


don't want to live a life without you

by laughtales



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: AU where ten elite major crest bearers become possessed, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Slight VW Route Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughtales/pseuds/laughtales
Summary: Sylvain's had more than a handful of nightmares of standing across from Felix on a battlefield. Ones where a small divergence in their paths would have them trying to kill each other with anguish in their hearts and steeled resolves of a better future.Now, Sylvain stands on a bloody battlefield protecting everyone from Felix's blade. The worst part of it is knowing that Felix doesn't want this any more than he does.AU where major crest bearers become possessed during the Nemesis fight
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 153





	don't want to live a life without you

Sylvain doesn’t particularly believe in the Goddess, despite being from the _Holy_ Kingdom of Faerghus. She’s has never done him any favors no matter how much he prayed as a child; no reprieve from or reconciliation with his abusive and hateful brother, no merciful change of heart from his parents’ expectations. Some small part of him thinks that’s maybe what he deserves and never really held it against her if she did exist. But in this moment, with the Lance of Ruin the only thing between Felix’s blade and Ingrid’s head on the ground, he prays, _pleads_ , for this to be some twisted illusion and if that’s asking too much, for this to be some sick joke Felix has sprung on him for all the years of his insufferable company he’d had to entertain. If not for him, then for everyone else that deserves so much.

Fate is not merciful. He only ever hoped karma would only take it out on him and not the people he valued more than anything in the world. Instead, he shoves Ingrid, whose hands are shaking and fighting back disbelief and tears, behind him and grips the Lance of Ruin tighter, squaring off against Felix.

Except it isn’t Felix. Not really. Undeniably, in flesh and blood, Felix stands before him pointing his blade at Sylvain’s chest but in everything else, this is not Felix. Not their Felix.

Not _his_ Felix.

His Felix that cried uninhibited tears when they were children, who freely and openly gave his smiles and hugs.

His Felix who built up walls after Glenn died and Dimitri fractured but spilled his tears one last time in Sylvain’s arms in the aftermath from the unfairness of it all.

His Felix whose walls were wound with thorns when they reunited at the Academy with sharp words and an even sharper sword but, despite his near-constant grumbling, still had patience for his antics and time for his company.

His Felix who, after five years of war, turned his barbs into deadly weapons against their enemies and everyone realized that under those layers was a heart of gold that cared so deeply, he stayed by Sylvain’s side after a untimely attack had him out for a few days.

There’s none of that in the man before him. He isn’t cold, Sylvain can deal with that. He isn’t even angry, Sylvain can definitely deal with that. There’s just… nothing. Blank and empty deadliness. His features sharpened from the overhead glow of the Fraldarius crest.

There’s a similar glow across the chaos of the battlefield – one in the shape of the Gloucester crest.

Sylvain thinks it’d be less painful if his Felix cut out his heart with a rusty blade and he’d rather that reality over this any day.

* * *

_The battle is over. Thales is dead at the Professor’s feet and cheers and relieved sighs echo in the air. Edelgard and the Empire defeated; those pulling deeper strings gone now too. Sylvain can see Claude throwing an arm around the Professor’s shoulder a ways away and for once, he looks relaxed. At ease. It feels like a weight has been lifted from Sylvain’s shoulders._

_Victory should be sweet and that’s how it tastes when Sylvain pulls Ingrid and Felix into a tight hug, uncaring of the blood and grim and discomfort his armor is causing. They’ve survived and that’s what matters. Five long miserable years of war, over at last. There’d be a long grueling future waiting for them to rebuild Fodlan and bring about the changes they want but for now, nothing feels better than having his best friends in his arms, smiling and weeping in equal portions._

_No moment has ever felt more perfect._

_And that alone should have been enough for him to be suspicious because nothing good in his life ever lasted._

_A strange pulse shakes the ground and the air grows unnaturally heavy. The same moment Sylvain hears worried cries and Claude cursing up a storm, Felix crumbles and nothing else matters._

_“Felix!” Sylvain drops next to Felix near immediately. He scans him once over but is unable to identify anything outwardly wrong. No open wound. No trace of familiar magic. Nothing to explain Felix’s labored breathing and grimaced face. His sword is struck into the ground to keep him upright and his free hand is clutching his head so hard it looks like it hurts. Ingrid hovers over him, patting him down and yelling for one of the healers._

_There’s a roaring in Sylvain’s ears and a painful twisting in his gut. His eyes scan across the field and he spots Linhardt making his way over, not quickly enough for his preference but the relief dulls the roaring in his ears enough to catch the faintest whisper of Felix’s voice._

_“-away.”_

_Sylvain’s eyes shoot back to Felix. “Felix?”_

_Ingrid places a hand on Felix’s arm, as reassuring as she can manage for how worried she feels. “Hold on, Felix. Linhardt is coming. He’ll-“_

_Felix grits his teeth, his entire body tight and shaking. He raises his head just enough to catch Sylvain’s eye and the same time an explosion of dark magic bursts across the field, Felix snaps. “Get away from me!”_

_And then his crest appears and silver flashes and Ingrid’s eyes go wide with horror._

* * *

“Felix, I know you’re in there.” Sylvain pleads. The Lance of Ruin tremors in his shaking hands. “Please,” Sylvain is near begging at this point. “Don’t make me do this."

Felix doesn’t reply.

Across the battlefield, the rest of the Ten Elites and Nemesis are exchanging blows with the Professor and Claude and anyone with anything left to spare in what would hopefully _finally_ be their last fight. He briefly sees Linhardt scribbling almost desperately on the ground while Caspar guards him. Marianne is quickly running out of Silences to keep Lysithea at bay so Ignatz is backing her up.

“Ingrid,” Sylvain murmurs. “Go help the Professor.” He cuts her off before she can raise a protest. “I can hold off Felix on my own. I know him better than anyone. Help the others.” He hopes she can hear the plea in his voice because Felix has his attention again with a deadly thrust that he barely manages to guard. “Please.”

She looks at him and then at Felix. “Okay. Take care of him,” she says as she mounts her pegasus. “Sylvain.” She manages to catch his eye as he pushes Felix back a few steps. “I won’t stand for the two of you breaking that promise.” Sylvain’s eyes widen and she continues. “But I also refuse to let you fulfil it today either. You have to live. Both of you.”

Sylvain manages to choke out a laugh before he’s grunting under the weight of Felix’s blade and Ingrid flies off with fierce determination on her face.

Sylvain turns Ingrid’s words over in his head again and opens his mouth to try to reason with Felix again in the wake of Ingrid seeing right though him.

He doesn’t get the chance because friendly sparring jests are one thing and pleading during a fight to the death are not the same. Felix’s relentless assault leaves no time for all the things he wants to say.

Sylvain really only has two acceptable options. One, hoping that defeating Nemesis would cancel out the possession that’s controlling the major crest bearers. Two, Linhardt pulls a miracle out of his brain and somehow manages to undo the possession. As much as Sylvain wants to believe in either, he’s also, unfortunately, a realist. Everyone is tired from the previous fight and they need everyone they can, Sylvain included.

It’s not like cutting down old friends is an unfamiliar concept and that thought leaves the bitter taste of bile in his mouth.

The best scenario he can think of is him somehow managing to disarm and knock Felix out for the remainder of the fight. From the long drawn out fight, he can only assume that’s what Marianne and Ignatz are doing with Lysithea. It’s the path of least bloodshed. The prospect is nice to think about between blows but Felix is strong and the possession is allowing him to ignore both his exhaustion and the open wound on his thigh from an enemy arrow. Sylvain, on the other hand, feels the full burnt of being thrown off his horse by magic and narrowly escaping with his life if not for Felix.

There’s simply no way he can win fend off Felix without fighting to kill and even those chances are narrow at best.

Sylvain refuses to think about the worst case scenario. If the worst comes to pass, he’s already decided what he’s going to do.

He absolutely cannot let Felix kill any of their comrades in this state; the thorns around his heart would dig into his heart and he’d have to bear that pain and guilt forever. Sylvain refuses to let Felix get their comrades blood on his hands and the only way he ensure that is to stand his ground and keep Felix’s undivided attention on him.

And if worse comes to worse, Sylvain would cut Felix down. Because surely, Felix is screaming at Sylvain to put him down before he kills anyone. He’d put his wretched lance through Felix’s chest as Felix puts his sword through his. And as they both bled out with Felix in his arms, he’d hope that everyone else lived and changed Fodlan for the better.

It’s the best end he could ask for and maybe if the world threw him a bone for once, he’d get his Felix back as they drew their last breaths and he’d be able to ghost the words he’d always longed to say in that delicate space between their faces. And maybe, just maybe, he’d get them returned to him.

But for now, he’s content to stall. He’ll stall and drag this fight out as long as he possibly can. His feet are heavy and it’s a struggle to swing his lance anymore but as long as he draws breath, he’ll keep this deadly dance going.

Sylvain thrusts the Lance of Ruin, Gautier crest thrumming in his veins, at Felix’s chest and is horrified when Felix doesn’t raise his sword to parry. In a moment of weakness, he draws back and lets the lance drop to the ground and realizes his mistake too late. He can already see the magic sparking on Felix’s fingertips and there’s no way Sylvain can dodge or withstand the full force Thoron in his state.

He might be able to do the worst and send his lance through Felix’s heart though.

He steels himself, eyes never leaving Felix’s face because despite all his regrets, he wants his last sight to be Felix, even if it’s not even a shadow of the man he loves and raises the Lance of Ruin one last time. That’s when he sees the magic fizzle from his fingertips and instantly shifts his stance from a thrust to a guard as the weight of Felix’s sword comes down again. He glimpses a look in Marianne’s direction but there’s no sign that she had magic to spare on his fight. Instead, he hears a whistle overhead and sees Claude flying by on his wyvern with a relieved grin and an outstretched hand. Sylvain could kiss him for learning how to cast Silence. He thinks he still might.

He presses closer to Felix, refusing to let him get the distance or the time to cast again and grits his teeth as they clash again and again. It feels endless. His body screams at him to yield. But yielding means killing Felix and then himself and no matter how appealing that sounds to his exhaustion addled brain, he refuses to accept Felix’s death as an option while there’s still hope in the others.

Plus he’s sure Ingrid would find a way to bring them both back to life just to kill them again for doing exactly what she told him not to do.

Time blurs. They’ve probably only been going for minutes, definitely not hours, and definitely not the days he feels like it’s been. His world narrows to the edge of Felix’s blade and color of his eyes when they lock weapons inches from each other’s face.

Sylvain’s thought more than once about throwing his lance down in these moments to pull Felix in and kiss him and hope it’d break the spell on him like in those fairy tales Ashe likes to read.

He feels more than sees the moment Claude and the Professor defeat Nemesis and the crest over Felix’s head shatters. It’s like his heart has been released from a vice and he can breathe again when he sees the light return to Felix’s eyes and the sword falling from his grip.

His own weapon is on the ground equally as fast and he drops to the ground with an armful of Felix. He’s holding him and stroking his hair and outright sobbing relief into the crown of Felix’s head and he’s pretty sure he’s rambling but he has no idea what kind of words are leaving his mouth. He’s not even sure if the fight around them is truly over. All he cares about is that he has Felix, _his Felix_ , back and neither of them are dead.

“Gross.” Felix makes a face as Sylvain wipes snot and tears on his clothes but only nuzzles in closer when Sylvain laughs. He takes a moment to cherish the moment, really relish in the warmth and relief flooding his body and heart and soul. “You should’ve killed me.” Felix murmurs into the crook of Sylvain’s neck.

Sylvain’s hand comes up to cup his cheek and presses his forehead to Felix's. “I didn’t want to. If I had, I would’ve followed you. And as much as I’d have loved to die with you like we promised, I want to live with you more.” It’s not the words he’s fantasized about whispering between their breaths but they’re the ones that feel right to say.

He feels the warm press of Felix’s lips on his, tasting like blood and dirt and far too short and instead the heartfelt confession he dreamed of, Sylvain feels the tug of a smile on his lips and can’t help but laugh when he makes out the motions of Felix’s words against his mouth.

“How foolish.”

It’s the best kiss Sylvain’s ever had, he thinks as he pulls Felix into another one.


End file.
